Changes of Fortune
by Dolen Feredir
Summary: Why would a simple pocketwatch bring bad luck to all who own it? That’s what our boys want to know when said cursed watch finds its way into their possession.
1. Chapter 1

**Changes of Fortune**

By Dolen Feredir

Disclaimer: I don't own anything associated with Supernatural. I'm also making no money off of this. :-(

Rating: T for some language

Notes: Well, it's pretty much complete now. This is my first attempt at a fairly lighthearted multi-chaptered story and it took a ridiculously long time to write. (I started it in the summer of '06, so it's rather sad and pathetic it took me so long) I've found that it's really hard to write something where there isn't a lot of death and destruction. The urge to put the boys in mortal peril is strong. _sigh_.

Anyway, enough babbling. Here it is. I hope you like it.

* * *

**Day One:**

"Well that was a waste of time," Dean Winchester muttered as he strode down the steps of the police station, fully intent upon getting into his car and driving as far away from this job as he could.

His younger brother followed, a slight grin gracing his features as he zipped up his jacket against the late-autumn cold.

"You sound disappointed that it turned out to be completely natural," Sam noted with amusement. "Could it be you were actually looking forward to a salt-and-burn?"

Dean glared over his shoulder. "Oh, yeah. We all know how much fun it is to dig up bones when the ground is cold. I'm so disappointed I could cry."

He paused to check out two girls as they walked by, making sure to flash them a flirtatious grin. The girls giggled and whispered together as soon as they thought they were out of earshot.

Dean's mood lifted considerably and he turned back to his brother. "All I'm saying is that we wasted almost two days getting out here because someone couldn't tell the difference between a pissed-off spirit and a bunch of pigeons."

"Don't worry, your reputation isn't in any danger," Sam appeased. "That one bird was terrified when you called it out." He didn't even try to bite back his laughter at the memory of his brother, shotgun in hand, shouting insults and ultimatums into the rafters of the old factory.

Dean grinned back at him. "It worked, didn't it? Little bastards showed themselves and we didn't even have to pull out the salt. We finished that job in record time."

"Getting arrested for trespassing does not count as finishing the job." Sam shook his head. "Next time I tell you I hear someone coming, you should listen to me. I'm getting tired of bailing you out of jail."

"Maybe next time you should hang around and help me out instead of running away like a little girl," Dean smirked.

"I didn't run," Sam protested. "I checked out the noise and by the time I got back they'd arrested you. It's a good thing they didn't catch us both, or we'd probably still be in there. Getting someone out of custody isn't as cheap as it used to be."

"I think you're just mad because that cute cop liked me better than you," Dean retorted, ignoring Sam's statements as the brothers reached the Impala.

"You mean the one that 'accidentally' got ink all over your hands when she was taking your prints? She didn't like you. She called you a pig."

Sam laughed at the look on Dean's face. His brother's response was cut short as the door behind Sam opened and a short man burst out of the store. He was streaming colourful curses in his wake.

Gesticulating wildly, the man muttered to himself before breaking off into another flow of swear words. He cut his tirade short as he caught sight of the two men staring at him.

With a snort, he approached Sam and leaned closer as if he were about to impart a great secret. Sam stepped back. The man was well-dressed, but that didn't mean he wasn't nuts. Dean moved quickly from the driver's side of the Impala, ready to intercept the man if it became necessary.

The man stared at Sam with an intense expression. "That guy in there," he gestured behind him to the store, "is a con."

Barely glancing at Dean, the stranger continued. "Antique dealer, my ass. Stupid thing's probably fool's gold." He shoved something into Sam's hand and the younger Winchester held onto it instinctively.

"You keep it," the man muttered. "More trouble than it's worth. I don't need that junk." With that, the man turned and strode down the sidewalk. Sam could have sworn he heard the man whistling as he rounded the corner out of sight.

"What was all that about?" Sam wondered aloud. He glanced at Dean, but his brother's attention was fixed onto Sam's hand.

"Dude, what did he give you?" Dean reached for the object, but Sam pulled his hand back.

"It's a gold pocket watch," he replied in surprise.

"Real gold or fake like looney-toons was saying?" Dean questioned, his interest already piqued.

Sam shrugged. "I have no idea." He turned to glance at the antique store, but the sign in the window had been turned to 'closed.' The slight bend in the curtain showed that someone had been watching the exchange outside, but no one was there now.

"You hungry?" Dean's attention switched to food, though Sam knew that in his head Dean was already spending the money that could be made from the watch.

"Maybe we could check out that haunted emu farm. It's only a few hours from here." The elder Winchester continued as he walked back to the driver's side of the car, not noticing or not caring that Sam wasn't listening.

With a final glance at the store window, Sam shoved the watch into his pocket and got into the car.

* * *


	2. Day Two: Morning

Disclaimer: Still not mine

* * *

**Day Two: Morning**

"Good morning sunshine!" Dean called loudly.

Sam groaned. It couldn't possibly be morning already. He had sat awake for most of the night, simply unable to fall asleep.

He looked at his watch through bleary eyes - 7:14 am. He had watched the clock turn to 6:30 am, meaning he couldn't have been asleep very long. He swore as he sat up; the beginnings of a headache were already making themselves known.

"C'mon, I'm hungry and I don't want to wait around all day," Dean groused. "You have five minutes to shower or I'm leaving without you."

"Since when do you get up so early?" Sam muttered.

"Since that hot waitress only works until 8:00 am . . . all-night restaurant," Dean reminded his brother. "So, move your butt!"

Sam did find it a little easier to get moving once he'd actually levered himself out of bed. He staggered into the bathroom, ignoring Dean's comments about needing a walker. He turned on the shower, sighing with relief when the rolling steam began to fill the room.

Knowing that Dean was serious about the time limit, Sam wasted no time getting into the shower and letting the hot water pound into his stiff muscles. He felt his headache ease and he knew he had a good minute or two before Dean would actually bang on the door.

Sam let his eyes close as he felt himself drifting off to sleep.

Sudden and intense pain made Sam jolt awake and jump back out of the shower spray before he was even aware he was moving. It wasn't far enough as he realised he was being pelted with suddenly very icy water.

He clamoured out of the shower, grabbing his towel to ward off the cold. He was already shivering as he reached in to turn off the offending spray.

"Everything okay in there?" Dean's voice sounded from the other side of the door. "Stop messing around and get your ass in gear, Samantha. Time's up."

Sam sighed and reached for his clothes. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

The small 24-hour restaurant was nearly empty when Sam and Dean entered. The breakfast crowd had apparently come and gone, or possibly had never shown in the first place, leaving the Winchester brothers and an elderly couple the sole patrons.

Dean leaned on the counter and flirted shamelessly with the waitress as he ordered. Sam waited his turn with growing impatience. If he didn't get some coffee soon he was going to kill someone.

Dean finally moved aside for Sam to order, but the waitress clearly had no qualms about playing favourites. She served Dean's coffee and gave him a doughnut on the house to eat during his wait. At last, with a reluctant sigh, she turned her attention to Sam.

"Coffee." Sam only just managed to keep it from sounding like a desperate plea.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," the waitress replied. "We're all out."

"But _he_ got some!" Sam protested, not caring if he sounded childish. He watched in despair as Dean set down his mug and turned to observe the exchange with brotherly interest. That was to say, Dean was smirking.

Sam groaned. This day was getting longer by the minute.

* * *

As they left the restaurant, Sam was still brooding about his lack of coffee. Dean grinned. It wasn't his fault the waitress liked him better. Still, a broody Sam wasn't much fun and Dean really didn't relish the thought of a long car ride with his caffeine-deprived brother.

"Look, we'll go somewhere else and I will buy you a coffee," Dean reasoned with his cranky sibling. It couldn't hurt to do some pre-emptive damage control. It was starting to rain, which wasn't going to do anything to help Sam's mood.

"I just want to leave. I want to go far away and then I'm going to have a hot shower, some coffee and sleep for a week."

"Okay," Dean replied, pulling his jacket closed.

Sam scowled and did the same, shoving his hands into his pockets. He withdrew them quickly.

"How did this get here?" He opened his hand, revealing the gold pocket-watch. "I left it back at the motel room. I took it out of my pocket last night."

"Not to be picky, but you aren't exactly working with all four cylinders right now," Dean pointed out helpfully. "Maybe you just thought you had left it."

Sam shrugged, playing with the small latch on the watch and finally deciding to open it.

"Seriously though," Dean continued. "Leave it in the car when we get to that haunted farm. That watch could be worth a lot and I will be seriously pissed if it gets eaten by an emu."

The younger Winchester was still staring at the watch. The outside was very plain; a simple border pattern was engraved around it. The inside, however, bore an inscription.

"'_May time bring good fortune to the man who loves my daughter_'."

"Say what?" Dean looked up at Sam's seemingly random statement.

"It's the inscription on the watch."

"Well, it's a beautiful sentiment . . . will you get a move-on?"

Dean walked quickly toward the Impala, but paused as a plaintive cry of distress reached his ears. A quick glance at his brother told Dean that Sam had heard it, too. The cry sounded again and this time both brothers took off towards the wail.

Several doors down from them, an elderly woman stood underneath a large tree. She was muttering worriedly to herself, her umbrella discarded at her feet despite the rain. She glanced up as the brothers approached and wrung her hands together anxiously.

The woman had tears in her eyes. "Please, can you help me?"

"Yes, ma'am," both Winchesters answered in unison, already scanning the area for threats.

"It's Lucy," the small woman continued. "She's up there!"

The brothers followed the woman's distraught gaze up to the tree where a large black and white cat glared back at them.

"Umm . . . it's a cat," Dean stated uncertainly. "Is it bothering you?"

"Heavens no, child," the woman clucked disapprovingly. "She's stuck."

Dean glanced at the cat again. It didn't _look_ stuck. He turned back to Sam, who shrugged in response.

They both looked at the cat, who growled in warning.

This caused the old woman even greater distress. "Oh, she's scared!"

Dean could never stand to see a woman upset. "It's okay, ma'am. My brother will get it down for you."

He could feel the glare Sam shot at him, but to his credit Dean managed to keep his expression sincere. The elder Winchester didn't even look at his brother before continuing. "He's unusually tall, so it's good that his height will finally be useful for something."

Sam muttered something under his breath that sounded vaguely like a threat, but moved towards the tree anyway.

"Here kitty, kitty, kitty," Sam cooed, trying to smile as though he meant it. "Nice kitty."

He held up his hands. The cat hissed and backed farther up the branch and out of his reach.

Dean smirked.

Sam moved slightly closer, still trying to reassure the animal that he wasn't going to hurt it. The cat hissed again, but before it could move, Sam lunged. He caught the cat around its middle and heaved the struggling animal out of the tree.

Lucy the cat spat angrily as she hissed and growled in fury. She bucked wildly in Sam's arms as the unfortunate Winchester tried to hold her.

Dean couldn't help it. The sight of his brother, who had taken on some of the nastiest creatures imaginable, being bested by a cat was too much. He laughed.

The cat scored a few lucky hits on Sam's face before setting its claws to bear on his arms. Sam swore and dropped the animal, who ran to her mistress in a cloud of shed fur.

"Oh, pumpkin!" the woman soothed the indignant creature. She turned her eyes to Sam, who was dabbing lightly at his newly-acquired scratches.

"You evil boy!" the woman scolded, advancing on him with her umbrella brandished high. "Wicked child! Hurting my poor Lucy!" She swatted at Sam with her umbrella.

Sam looked up in shock. Monsters and demons he could handle, but little old ladies and their hell-cats? He put his hands in the air and backed away, wincing as the woman scored a hit to his side.

Dean finally got his laughter under control and moved to intervene while Sam still had some dignity left.

* * *

Dean was still chuckling as the brothers drove back to the motel.

"It wasn't that funny," Sam muttered, not at all amused with life in general.

"Oh, I think it was," Dean grinned. "I just wish I'd taken pictures." He drove past the police station and surprised Sam by pulling in to a vacant spot near the antique store.

"What are you doing?" Sam questioned as Dean got out of the car.

"Since you have the watch with you, I thought we'd stop in and find out how much it's worth."

"Aren't you worried he'll try to take it back?"

Dean shrugged. "That crazy dude gave it to you; it's ours now."

Shaking his head, Sam followed. "I see how this works. He gave it to _me_, so now it's _ours_."

"Would you prefer, 'he gave it to _you_ and now it's _mine_'?" Dean shot back.

Sam wisely chose not to reply. Honestly, he had no intention of keeping the watch and Dean knew that full-well. If they could sell it and make a little money to help keep them stocked with silver and salt, then that was what they'd do.

Dean pulled the door to the store open and a little bell rang to announce their arrival.

Within moments, a small man in a faded brown suit and glasses appeared from the back room. "Can I help you?"

With a nod, Dean gestured to his brother. "We'd like you to tell us about something."

Sam pulled out the watch and placed it on the glass counter. The antique dealer glanced at the gold object, but didn't touch it. He looked back at the brothers with an inscrutable expression on his face. "What would you like to know?"

"Well, for starters, is it worth a lot, Mister . . ." Dean trailed off, waiting for the man to supply his name.

"Mills. Aaron Mills." The man stepped out from behind his counter, gesturing for Sam and Dean to collect the watch and follow him into the next room where a table and chairs had been set up. "Please, come in and sit down. And to answer your question, it's worth quite a bit of money, more's the pity."

"What do you mean by that?" Sam spoke for the first time since entering the store.

"It's an expensive watch, but it has never made me a dime." Mills sat in the chair farthest from the door and gestured for the other men to sit as well. When he felt satisfied his guests were comfortable, Mills continued. "I've sold it a half-dozen times, but it's never stayed sold."

"People keep returning it?" Dean questioned.

"Not exactly. It just keeps coming back. People would buy it and take it home, only to have it reappear here the next morning." Mills frowned at the object in Sam's hand. "Finally, I refunded a man's money and simply gave him the watch. It stayed with him. To tell you the truth, I was more than glad to be rid of it. That pocket watch nearly put me under."

"Why is that?" Sam interjected.

"Everyone thought I was running a scam." Mills managed a small smile. "I had people investigating my books and transactions, there were threats of lawsuits."

Mills took his glasses off before speaking again. "That watch is a menace. It destroys everything with which it comes into contact. My luck was atrocious when it was in my possession; after it left, everything settled down."

"Is that why that man was back yesterday?" Sam asked. "He was here to try and get rid of the watch?"

Mills smiled sadly. "As you will no doubt discover, the watch wouldn't have stayed with me anyway. You two believe you'll get money for it? I guarantee you'll never see a dime. After a week, you'll wish you'd never seen the blasted thing at all."

Dean cleared his throat, breaking the lengthy silence that followed Mills' proclamation. "So . . . what can you tell us about the history of the watch?"

The small, bespectacled man smiled. "What do you want to know?"

"The name of the original owner would be good."

"I can do better than that," Mills scoffed. "The watch was originally made by a Mr. Belmont for his future son-in-law. He had it inscribed and, according to legend, performed some rather lengthy rituals on it to ensure that it was imbued with positive energy." The antique dealer smiled wryly and wiggled his fingers in the air. "_Magic_. He wanted to bless his daughter's marriage by ensuring that good fortune followed them."

"Given the watch, I'm willing to bet that didn't work out as planned," Sam muttered.

"Most decidedly not," Mills agreed. "Roger Denham, the groom, was dead within a year and left his wife Abigail pregnant, alone, and almost penniless. She worked very hard to support her son and she did quite well by him. He was apparently a very clever boy; he ended up becoming a successful dentist somewhere in Idaho. He eventually moved back here to look after his mother, but he never married. Quite the shame, really, as he was said to be -"

"Back on topic, Mr. Mills," Dean interrupted the rambling story.

"Sorry," Mills coughed lightly. "After her death, Abigail's son cleaned out the attic and found the watch. He passed it along to a man who had been a friend to Roger and Abigail. The friend was plagued by bad luck. The watch passed through his entire family for years before someone finally made the connection and eventually they brought it to me."

Sam grinned. "Lucky you."

With a roll of his eyes, Mills returned to his tale. "They gave me the watch and told me it was cursed, but I have to admit that I was sceptical. It didn't take long for me to believe it." He sat back in his chair. "The rest of the story, you already know."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Bad luck, nearly went under, gave the watch to a crazy guy, yadda, yadda."

Sam frowned. "In all the time that family had the watch, they never tried to figure out how to un-curse it?"

"Oh, they did," Mills replied. "They tried a great many things, but it just kept ending up right back with its owner. It was even stolen once, but came back the next morning." He glanced at the small object in Sam's hand with a barely-suppressed shudder. "That watch is not normal."

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Mills," Dean spoke suddenly, breaking into the conversation. "I think we should be going now, Sam."

Sam smiled at the shopkeeper, putting the watch into his pocket before reaching out to shake Mills' hand. "Don't worry, we'll figure out how to stop the watch."

Mills shook Sam's proffered hand. "My dear boy, that watch is no longer my problem. I'm not worried at all."

* * *

"Well, that's just great," Dean smiled falsely as he and Sam left the store. "A gold watch that's worth a fortune but can't be sold and brings horrible luck to whoever owns it. Wonderful."

"What do you think about Mills' story?" Sam asked, still trying to figure out how the pocket watch managed to return to its owners.

"The guy's probably a nutcase, but I guess we could check it out. A bad luck watch?" Dean shrugged, then looked at his brother. "Then again, it's not like you've been having the best day or anything."

"Oh, please," Sam scoffed. "No coffee at the diner? Cat scratches? I'm not cursed, Dean."

"Whatever you say, Sammy."

Sam ignored his brother's placating tone and turned his attention back to the small, golden object in his hands. Opening the watch again, Sam re-read the inscription. "It was a nice gesture, but his daughter might have been happier if he hadn't bothered."

"Maybe the father was holding the incantation upside down - got it backwards."

Shaking his head, Sam stuffed the watch into his pocket. "I suppose the only thing to do is see if we can destroy it. We do know things that the previous owners probably didn't."

Dean smirked. "That's right. Evil pocket watch - your days are numbered."

* * *


	3. Day Two: Afternoon

Sorry about the delay. I was going to post this part yesterday, but work had other ideas.

D.F.

:-)

* * *

**Day Two: Afternoon**

"Okay, so burning, drowning and smashing haven't worked," Dean muttered to himself as he contemplated the next course of action. He grabbed a shotgun and several bullets before glaring at the watch again. This was getting ridiculous.

The brothers had found the most secluded area they could in order to run a series of experiments on the watch. No need to alarm the locals with the display of weaponry currently being used on the gold trinket. Dean was currently blowing the crap out of the watch with every weapon in their arsenal, but to no avail. He sighed, secretly glad that no one was around to witness his lack of progress in destroying a simple hunk of metal.

He craned his head to try and get a better view of what his brother was doing. Sam was currently out of sight; amusing himself by wandering around in the trees that surrounded the clearing. Dean had to admit that Sam was being unusually patient and compliant. The elder Winchester himself would not have endured being temporarily banished from any aspect of a hunt, yet Sam had given in relatively easily.

Dean grinned at the memory.

Sam had decided to start off by smashing the watch with a large rock. Somehow, the young hunter had managed to smash his fingers in the process, resulting in curses that even Dean found impressive.

The watch was still intact and ticking happily.

Deciding to take a more professional approach, the brothers moved on to the most obvious method of destroying evil things - salt and burn. Sam spilt the salt, dropped the lighter fluid and then singed his fingers lighting the match. After that, Dean had refused to let him close enough to the fire pit to actually light it, going so far as to draw an imaginary line around the pit and threatening Sam with dire consequences (such as unending laundry duty) should he deign to step over. The way things were going, Sam was building up to something more serious than singed fingers and it would be embarrassing to have a Winchester get killed by an inanimate object.

In any case, Dean was thoroughly enjoying being able to give the younger Winchester a hard time about being on the pocket watch's hit-list . . .

Sam hadn't been amused.

In the end, Sam had come to the conclusion that it was useless to argue, especially when Dean was having so much fun with his latest method of tormenting his brother. As a result, Sam now paced the perimeter of the area, wandering amongst the trees and trying to come up with new plans while Dean worked on the watch.

"Do you think it's really cursed?" Sam called to Dean, emerging from the trees to check on the progress.

"Nah, probably just some sort of spell." Dean took another shot at the watch, this time with silver bullets. "Real, honest-to-God curses don't just grow on trees." He lowered the gun. "Silver doesn't work."

"Not to mention that real, honest-to-God curses are almost impossible to break," Sam replied.

"That's why this isn't cursed. It's just whammied," Dean grinned. "We'll get it."

Sam nodded, though he didn't look entirely convinced despite Dean's confidence. The elder Winchester frowned again. Of course they'd figure it out. After all, a bad-luck watch wasn't exactly the height of all evil . . . more its annoying relative.

Dean paused reloading his gun. They could always try blowing up the watch; explosives might do the trick. With a shrug, he finished inserting the iron bullets and took aim once more.

* * *

After several hours of waiting while Dean got increasingly annoyed at his inability to destroy the watch, Sam had been relieved when the older man finally conceded that physically damaging the object seemed impossible, and maybe they should go get something to eat. 

The almost-deserted gas station was sorely lacking in anything resembling healthy food options and Dean had pretty much vetoed the thought of Sam going into a diner until their current situation was resolved. Dean took great pleasure in pointing out that food poisoning would be a rather inconvenient example of bad luck, which pretty much guaranteed Sam would get it if they ate anything that needed to be cooked.

As a result, and despite Sam's protests, it was pre-packaged food from the local gas station for dinner. Sam sighed as he examined his options. He was starving, but nothing on the shelves appealed to him in the slightest. He'd already gathered several bags of chips, M&Ms and bottles of water. On a whim, Sam grabbed a couple packages of Twinkies off of the shelf, balancing them precariously under his chin as he approached the counter.

Sam dumped his purchases on the counter and paid for them without incident. He shook his head as he realised he'd been waiting for something to go wrong. Dean's joking was definitely getting to him.

He took the bag of junk food and headed to the door, holding it open for someone entering the building.

Sam had to do a double-take. He'd never been one to make a point of staring at people, but this woman merited a second glance. She was an older woman, perhaps mid-fifties, dressed in full leather biker garb. Her clothing didn't leave much to the imagination and she was sporting long purple hair and quite a bit too much makeup. The look didn't really do her any favours, but she carried it with enough poise to make Sam suspect that she'd had it for awhile.

He tore his gaze away and turned back to the door just in time to see stars as a blinding pain shot through him.

* * *

Dean yawned as he finished filling the Impala's tank. He was ready to crash. Looking up at the gas station store, Dean raised his eyebrows as a leather-clad woman entered the store. He'd heard motorcycles arrive, but hadn't given them much thought. The elder Winchester smiled as he saw Sam's double-take at the biker woman. Even Dean had to admit that she looked a little . . . unusual. 

A massive man stalked angrily towards the door. Clearly, he was with the woman; like his companion, the man was dressed in leather, only he was the size of a truck and he looked _pissed_.

His displeasure became immediately apparent as he hauled back and slugged Sam with a meaty fist. The blow dropped Sam immediately. Dean's jaw dropped open in disbelief and he was crossing the distance between the gas pumps and the store before he even realised he was moving.

If he had been shocked at the man attacking Sam, nothing could have prepared Dean for what was coming next.

The biker reached down and pulled Sam to his feet, seemingly uncaring that the young hunter was completely dazed and only half able to support himself.

"I'm so sorry, man," the biker said quickly. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I just got angry; I thought you were checking out my girlfriend."

The massive man was brushing imaginary dirt off the front of Sam's jacket with one hand and keeping him upright with the other. Sam had regained enough sense to be staring at the biker as though he had grown two heads.

Dean knew he was going to have to handle this one carefully. "There a problem here?" he asked as he reached the pair. The urge to pummel the biker was strong, but Dean momentarily ignored it. He didn't want to get the man angry when he was still holding onto Sam.

The biker shook his head. "I clocked this guy one. I shouldn't have done it; I mean, my therapist is always telling me to find other ways to deal with my anger, but-"

"Your therapist?" Dean parroted, incredulously.

The biker nodded and finished brushing Sam off. Sam blinked and swayed slightly on his feet.

"I have anger-management issues," the large man continued. "They stem from my low self-esteem and fears of losing Irene, she's my girlfriend, and they make me more apt to overcompensate for my damaged self-image by unleashing my anger on others. Irene hates it, which only feeds my anxieties. Been with her eight years and I'm still worried the one day she'll leave me. Sometimes I think she only stays for my poetry."

Dean stared at the man, unsure what to say. _Poetry?_

The biker didn't seem to notice. He extended his hand. "My name's Herman."

"Herman, eh?" Dean accepted the handshake. "I'm Dean and that's my brother, Sam. I have to say, you don't really look like a Herman."

The large man grimaced. "You were expecting Snake or Thrasher or something, weren't you?"

"Well . . ."

"You know, those biker stereotypes really piss me off. I don't like how people judge others by how they dress or choose to live their lives, you know? People are who they are, and they should be accepted regardless of whether or not they fit the social norm."

"Well said, Herman," Dean agreed. Sam finally extricated himself from Herman's grasp and leaned on the door instead.

"Well, I should get back to Irene," the large man grinned. "Tell you what, if you're ever in New Jersey, look me up and I'll buy you boys a beer. Here's my card."

Dean accepted the small business card, hiding his surprise at the fact that the man even _had_ a business card in the first place. "Landscape architect, eh?"

"Best job in the world," the other man boasted good-naturedly. Herman then turned to Sam, reaching out to shake his hand with a sheepish smile. "Sorry again, man. I really didn't mean to deck you."

Sam tried to smile back as the large biker shook his hand enthusiastically, but the grin looked slightly too nervous to pass for genuine.

Dean, on the other hand, practically beamed as Herman shook his hand. "You know, Herman . . . if Irene's been with you this long, chances are it's because she _wants_ to be with you. If you're worried about someone else snatching her up, why don't you marry her?"

Herman looked a little uncertain. "Marry her? She's not really the type for flowers and rings. That's part of why we get on so well."

"Who says marriage has to fit the social norm? Instead of rings and flowers, go for . . . I dunno, tattoos and matching bikes or something." Dean's expression was serious, and Herman seemed to ponder the idea before nodding.

"I just might do that. Good idea, man." Herman's grin widened as he nodded to Dean. He happily gave Sam a hearty pat on the shoulder, not noticing the younger man wobble at the force of the blow.

"No problem!" Dean replied happily as he unconsciously reached out to make sure Sam stayed on his feet.

When Herman had disappeared into the store, Dean finally turned to his brother. "Dude, you just got your ass handed to you by a 300-pound, poem-writing biker named Herman!"

"I noticed," Sam replied dryly, flexing his jaw. "Can we please leave now?"

"Still think you aren't cursed?"

"Dean!"

"Okay, okay. We'll leave."

* * *


	4. Day Three

Sorry for the delay in posting. I was away for a while and I've been working some fairly long shifts. I also rewrote quite a bit of this.

Thanks to Poaetpainter, AlmostHeaven, friendly, irnan, and EagleGirl6 for the reviews! I hope you enjoy the next part. (Let's just say that it's Dean's turn to carry the watch)

D.F. :-)

Disclaimer: Still not mine

* * *

**Day Three:**

Dean cursed as his cellphone rang. He was flirting with the morning waitress again as he ordered coffee and the woman was definitely into him. Despite Dean's promise that he wouldn't be long, she moved on to serve another customer as Dean flipped his phone open.

"That better not be you, Sam, or you're going to think that curse is Disneyland by the time I'm done with you."

"It's me," the voice on the other end replied softly, "and I think it's getting worse."

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "What happened?"

There was a brief pause before Sam answered. "I got arrested."

"You wanna run that by me again?"

"I was walking back to the antique store to talk to Aaron Mills when the cops picked me up. Apparently, I match the description of a drug dealer who skipped bail in Sandusky a week ago."

"Are you kidding me?" Dean laughed. "That's ridiculous!"

"I know, but they didn't really believe me when I tried to tell them that. I guess they get that reaction a lot." Not even the phone could hide the disdain in Sam's voice.

"Well, don't worry," Dean assured his brother. "I'll vouch for you and you'll be out in no time. Remember, that cute cop likes me."

"There's something else, Dean. They took the watch when they brought me in, but it's back. The watch is here . . . with me."

Cursing inwardly, Dean sighed. "I'll be right there. Don't say or do anything that will get you into more trouble."

He ended the call and left the diner without paying for his coffee. Dean Winchester to the rescue once again.

* * *

Sam fidgeted in his seat while he waited for Dean to show up. The weight of the watch in his pocket unnerved him far more than the hunter wanted to admit. The cops had searched his pockets before taking him to the interrogation room, but the watch had reappeared during the questioning session.

Clearly the watch was under of some pretty powerful supernatural influence if it was capable of physically moving itself so quickly. With a frustrated sigh, Sam resisted the urge to pull the seemingly innocuous item out of his pocket. There had to be some way to get rid of it . . .

Sam looked up, startled, as the door to the interrogation room swung open and hit the wall with a loud bang. He was already halfway out of his seat when Dean stalked into the room. Sam grimaced at the look on his brother's face.

"Hey, you ready to blow this joint?"

"What happened?" Sam asked quietly as Dean practically manhandled him out of the windowless room.

"Bureaucratic red tape," came the curt reply. "Doesn't matter now. They said you could go and we're going."

After a brief stop to retrieve Sam's belongings, Dean marched his brother through a series of hallways until they reached the main doors. He turned to the younger man. "Where's the watch?"

With a small frown, Sam pulled the object from his pocket and held it up for Dean to see.

"Good." Dean grabbed the watch and shoved it in his own pocket before steering Sam towards the doors. "Let's go."

"What the hell are you doing, Dean?" Sam protested shaking his arm out of his brother's grasp. Dean relinquished his grip, but didn't slow his stride as he headed to the Impala. "Dean?"

"Look, your bad luck is getting to be a little less than convenient. It keeps getting worse, and if we can't find a way to stop it soon, the watch is going to be more than just a pain in the ass. I mean, it's bad enough getting arrested once in a single town, but twice is going to raise some red flags. We can't afford that kind of attention right now, Sammy." Dean's voice was intensely serious; as though he thought Sam needed reminding that the FBI was on their trail. "Let's face it - there are a hell of a lot of ways for this thing to get us into trouble."

"So you're going to take it from me? That doesn't really help."

Dean grinned. "That's where you're wrong, little brother. The bad luck starts out small and works its way up, right? Your bad luck should end and it'll take a while for mine to reach the level yours is at right now. As far as I can tell, I just bought us a few more days."

Sam had to admit that, as much as it sucked, Dean had a point. It would be impossible to lend a hand in destroying the pocket watch from behind bars and it _would_ take a few days for Dean's luck to sink that low . . .

Dean was smiling, secure in the knowledge that he had made a good point and for once Sam wasn't going to push his luck, so to speak.

The younger Winchester shook his head. "Okay. It makes sense and I'll go along with it for now, but if your luck gets really bad, you have to give it back to me."

"Fair enough," Dean replied.

"Here you go," Sam grinned as he tossed the watch to his brother. Dean caught the article with an astonished look.

"What the hell? I took the watch -"

"You can't _take_ the watch, remember?" Sam laughed. "It has to be given to you; otherwise it'll keep coming back."

"Nobody likes a smart ass," Dean shot back. "Can we please go before the cops decide to arrest us for loitering?"

Sam followed him to the car, still grinning despite the potential disaster that had just been averted. Dean was right - the fact that they'd both been arrested in one town was going to raise some problems. That meant they didn't have much time to figure out how to destroy the watch before they would have to move on. Staying in one place was just asking for trouble.

The elder Winchester shook his head at Sam's expression before settling himself in the driver's seat. "I don't really see what's so funny about all this, but I say we eat a hot meal before my bad luck gives me food poisoning. I can tell you right now, I just couldn't handle that."

"Talk about the ultimate betrayal," Sam agreed gravely.

Dean shrugged and turned on the car, cranking the volume on the cassette player to better hear his favourite Metallica tape.

Sam watched with amusement as Dean's face went from the annoyed m_an-I-hate-dealing-with-local-law-enforcement-officers_ expression to the _I'm-a-badass-with-a-cool-car_ expression which he unconsciously assumed whenever driving to Metallica.

The first notes of 'Enter Sandman' had just filtered through the speakers when a horrible crackling noise filled the car. Sam glanced at Dean in surprise as his brother let out a strangled noise that was almost as disturbing.

Dean hurriedly hit the stop button on the tape deck, quickly ejecting his tape.

Sam cringed. Dean was quickly ejecting what was _left_ of his tape. The cassette was mangled beyond repair as the delicate black ribbon twisted itself on something within the tape deck. Dean tried to extricate the tape carefully, but Sam could tell that it was beyond hope. It looked like something had chewed on it. Even rewinding it into the plastic case wouldn't save the tape now.

He looked at Dean, carefully studying the blank mask that had suddenly overtaken his brother's face. "You okay?"

Dean's jaw clenched as he stared at the tape. Abruptly, the hunter threw the cassette into the back seat and put the car into gear. "Everything's fine, Sammy."

Sam sighed lightly. They had to figure this out soon - before Dean's car became the next target.

* * *

Sam sighed as he toyed with his barely-touched drink. Frowning slightly as Dean tried to cajole a passing girl into giving him her phone number, he idly wondered how long they'd been sitting there.

The small bar was crowded with people. The brothers had been waiting for their food for quite awhile and Sam was bored. They were wasting time that could be spent researching and there was always the potential that Dean's luck would turn sour at any moment. The thought of possible impending disaster hadn't stopped Dean from finding ways to entertain himself. He boisterously flirted with every girl who walked by, which wasn't out of character _per se, _but Sam couldn't help noticing that the older man was acting more . . . exuberant than usual.

Watching with a patient frown as Dean noisily finished his third beer, Sam contemplated the next possible move. The watch was getting irritating and the younger Winchester couldn't wait to be rid of it and its curse.

Dean slammed his glass down on the table with a little more force than was strictly necessary. Gesturing to the barkeep for another beer, he turned back to Sam.

"Got any ideas, geek-boy?"

Sam shook his head, relieved they were finally getting down to the matter at hand. "Honestly, I have no idea how to destroy it." He looked up as a waitress set Dean's beer down on the table. Funny how no one in the bar was kept waiting for drinks . . .

The elder Winchester flashed a charming grin at her and handed her a bill. "Keep the change, beautiful." He tilted his head as he watched her walk away.

Sam rolled his eyes as the waitress moved on to another table and Dean's attention was once more somewhat focussed on the task at hand. "We've tried everything I can think of, Dean. Physically destroying it isn't an option and we tried all the supernatural fixes we know, too."

Taking a long pull of his beer, Dean nodded. "We'll just have to come up with something different, then. Maybe we should call Bobby." Dean blinked and rubbed his eyes.

"Couldn't hurt, I guess," Sam conceded. He peered at his brother for a moment. "Maybe you should slow down with the beer, Dean. That's your fourth one; you're starting to look a little -"

"What? Drunk?" Dean snorted. "Not off four beers, Sammy. I'm not you, remember?"

"I'm just saying that you could have waited until they brought your food before you started in on the alcohol."

"Let it go." Dean closed his eyes briefly as the world started to spin around him. "I have never gotten drink off of drinks in ever."

"Dean, are you okay?" Sam asked, trying not to let concern show in his voice. He'd seen Dean drunk before, but incoherent after four beers was definitely not normal. "That didn't make any sense."

Waving his hand in the air dismissively, Dean frowned. "Sam, Sam, Sam . . ."

"I think you _are_ drunk."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"No way. I don't get drunk like that. It's the curse. I must've been whammied, Sammy." Dean giggled lightly. "Whammied, Sammy. Sammy, whammy. Oh my God, I think I _am_ drunk. That's just embarrassing. That can't even be _possible_. Too damn quick . . ."

Biting back the urge to shake some sense into his brother, Sam glanced around the bar. They really didn't need any more attention. "Whatever it is, it's affecting you really quickly. I think we should go before you start trying to impress people with your knife-throwing abilities or something."

"This just sucks," Dean muttered. "You get cat scratches and I end up plastered after a few beers? That's not fair."

"I guess this would qualify as your version of bad luck, wouldn't it? Getting drunk off four beers would almost be worse than food poisoning for you." Sam sighed as Dean's gaze again wandered to the waitress. When drunk, the elder Winchester had the attention span of a gerbil.

"Huh?" Dean squinted at Sam in confusion before looking back to the waitress. "She's pretty hot, eh? Sammy? I should go make a move."

"Hold on there, Dean," Sam grimaced as he pulled his brother's sleeve in an effort to prevent him from making a fool out of himself. "You have the watch, remember? I really doubt you're going to get lucky tonight."

Dean frowned. "That sucks. You're right, though. Take the watch back, Sam."

"You haven't even had it for a day. Not getting laid isn't exactly the worst thing that could happen to you."

"It's up there," Dean disagreed. "Take the watch back. You made me promise that I'd give it back, and now I want to, so take it, Sammy."

Sam shook his head and reached for Dean's arm, this time to pull the older man to his feet. "Come on. I can't take it back yet, Dean; it's only been a few hours. My bad luck might pick up right where it left off. Let's go back to the motel. You can sleep this off and then we can get back to figuring out how to get rid of the watch."

"Fine," Dean muttered, finally allowing Sam to haul him out of his chair. "You don't even _know _how much you owe me for this."

"I can imagine," Sam rolled his eyes. "Just remember this the next time you tease me about being a lightweight. Four beers, Dean. _Four beers_."

"Just be glad I don't sing karaoke." Dean staggered slightly; his head lolling forward as though the effort of keeping it upright was suddenly too much for him.

Sam swung Dean's arm over his shoulder to prevent his brother from getting up close and personal with the floor. Taking most of the other man's weight, Sam meandered his way through the crowded bar towards the doorway.

He couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief when they reached the fresh air. Dean lifted his head briefly, as though the change in location was enough to bring him partially to his senses.

"We outside?" He slurred the question as his knees buckled.

Sam cringed and readjusted his grip on his brother, now reduced to practically carrying the other man through the parking lot. "Yes, Dean. We're outside."

"Good," Dean replied with a crooked grin that quickly turned to a grimace. That was all the warning Sam got as the older hunter leaned over and retched. Sam groaned as most of the mess ended up on his shoes.

He pulled Dean away from the puddle and leaned him against a nearby car.

"That's just wonderful, Dean. Fantastic. Thank you for that."

Dean leaned his head back against the cool metal and smiled. "No problem, Sammy."

Then he passed out.

* * *


	5. Days Four and Five

First, I have to apologise profusely to anyone who has been waiting for this. I had an ending written, but I wasn't happy with it. It took so long to come up with something else that I thought it would never be finished. This was, without a doubt, the trickiest thing I've ever written. I think I've proven to myself that I should not try branching out into light-hearted, multi-chapter stories if I want to preserve my sanity. Expect the next one to have a lot of violence and darkness. :-)

Second, I want to thank EagleGirl6, pmsdevil01, Poaetpainter, and AlmostHeaven for their reviews of the last chapter. You guys rock!

Finally, if you're still reading, thanks for sticking with it and I promise I won't leave anything for so long again.

Thanks!

D.F.

* * *

**D****ay Four:**

"Good morning, sunshine."

Dean groaned as bright light assaulted his eyes. He threw his arms over his face and cursed.

"Come on, Dean," Sam's voice was tinged with exasperation. The sudden memory of the previous night's events came rushing back and Dean cursed more vehemently.

"Please tell me I dreamt all that."

"No such luck. You hurled on my shoes, Dean."

The elder Winchester pulled himself into a sitting position, groaning as his head throbbed in protest. "Bad luck watch, remember? You can't hold that over me. It doesn't count."

"Whatever you say," Sam shrugged as he tossed a bottle of painkillers over to Dean. Dean fumbled with it, dropping several pills onto the bedspread before finally popping two into his mouth and swallowing them dry. Sam wisely chose not to comment on his brother's lack of dexterity. "In any case, I did some research while you were sleeping and I think I may have found something useful."

"Such as?"

"Such as . . . would it surprise you to find out that Abigail and Roger weren't living in the same house when he died?"

"They had separated?"

"Not officially, but it seems pretty definite that Roger wasn't staying with his wife," Sam agreed. "There are police reports spanning several months detailing incidents occurring at the home of a young widow – things people normally chalk up to bad luck. Small fires causing damage, windows getting broken, that sort of thing. In every report, Roger Denham was interviewed as a firsthand eyewitness."

"And most of the incidents happened in the dead of night, didn't they?" Dean guessed.

"Not only that, the official report on Roger Denham's death states that he fell down the stairs in the middle of the night and broke his neck. Wanna guess whose stairs he fell down?"

"So Roger was banging the widow and didn't even bother trying to hide it from Abigail."

"More than that, he was using Abigail's money to finance his affair as well as a couple failed business ventures." Sam turned the laptop so Dean could read the screen. "He didn't come from money himself; didn't even have a steady job as far as I can tell, but he was still able to become the prime financial backer in two companies, both of which bottomed out before they could even get started. He also bought a new home in town, but it wasn't for him and Abigail. He rented it out to a -"

"Local widow," Dean stated dryly. "Well, that's pretty ballsy. Buying a house with your new wife's money to keep your mistress nearby. Sounds like our pal Roger was a real prince of a guy."

"It does explain a lot, though."

"A lot of what?"

"'_May time bring good fortune to the man who loves my daughter_.' Belmont must have suspected that Roger Denham didn't really love Abigail. Why else would he phrase the message like that? He could have said, '_Good luck Roger and Abigail,_' but he didn't." Sam shook his head. "I guess he couldn't prove Roger was bad news, so he had to take out some extra insurance."

"Speaking of Belmont, what was Daddy dearest doing while Roger was treating his little girl like that?"

"Belmont died in a fire less than a month after the wedding. They couldn't even find a body to bury. She had no other family."

"Left all alone with an uncaring bastard for a husband," Dean frowned. "I think this guy's lucky he's dead."

Sam smiled lightly. "Lucky?"

With a shrug, Dean turned back to the laptop. "So, all the people possessing the watch over the years have had bad luck because none of them have loved Abigail."

"That's about the gist of it, as far as I can tell," Sam replied. "That kind of throws a wrench in my plan, actually."

"What plan?"

"I was thinking about the watch and how you can't sell it, but you can give it away. That's how Aaron Mills got it, how the crazy guy got it, and how we ended up with it."

"How _you_ ended up with it," Dean countered.

"What happened to 'now it's _ours_?'" Sam asked in frustration.

"That was before I found out it was cursed. You get dibs on all evil artefacts, Sammy." Dean met Sam's glare with an innocent expression. "Anyway . . . how does that impact your plan?"

"I was going to propose that we give the watch back to Roger."

Dean stared at the younger man. "Sammy . . . I hate to tell you this, but Roger's dead."

"I know that, but it doesn't actually matter."

"I think Roger would disagree with you on that one."

Sam rolled his eyes. "What I mean is that the watch was his, right? Before I found out he was a bastard, I figured that he loved Abigail, which is what the inscription stipulates. I thought that if we gave the watch back to the man who loved her, maybe it would end the curse."

The older Winchester shook his head. "I think that plan just sounds . . . stupid."

"Of course it sounds stupid. Most of our plans sound stupid. In any case, it wouldn't work because he didn't love her at all. Figures that the plan was too easy."

"Give it to the man who loved her and it's all over?" Dean repeated. "Yeah, a little too easy. That and the fact that he's dead."

"You of all people should know that death is just another state of being." Sam was seriously beginning to wish he'd never mentioned the idea at all.

"Maybe we should salt and burn him?"

"Dean!"

With a grin, the older man held up his hands in an appeasing gesture. "I'm just saying . . . it's an option."

Sam let out a loud sigh. "Look, I just don't know what else to try. It's not like we have a lot of time to hang around and try things out." He looked back to Dean and shook his head. "What else can we do?"

Dean closed the laptop and reached for his shirt. "What if you're on to something there, Sam?" He sniffed the shirt, wrinkled his nose and tossed the offending garment onto the floor.

"I don't understand." Sam watched as Dean rooted through his duffel bag and apparently found nothing that appealed to him before moving on to Sam's bag.

"Everyone in Abigail's life had a pretty rough time except for one person." Dean grinned as he pulled out one of Sam's t-shirts and pulled it on before his brother could protest. "Can you think of anyone who loved Belmont's daughter and didn't have craptacular luck?"

Realisation dawned in Sam's eyes. "Her son!"

"Remember what Aaron Mills said - he came all the way back from Idaho and left his dental practice to take care of her."

"He's the only man in her life who wasn't plagued by bad luck!"

"And he loved her – she was his mother." Dean headed to the bathroom. "Find out where he's buried."

Sam had already reached for the laptop and moved to open it once more. He was about to comment on Dean's apparent need to constantly close the computer every time he was finished with it, but was cut off by an alarmed cry from the bathroom.

"Son of a -" Dean's voice had quickly gone from professional to an almost panicked barrage of half-formed curses.

Sam crossed the distance to the bathroom in mere seconds, alarmed at the sudden change and what could have caused it. "Dean? Are you okay? What the hell happened?"

The door was ajar, so Sam opened it fully. "Dean?"

His brother stood with his face mere centimetres from the mirror. "You could have told me, Sam."

"Told you what?"

"That I have the freakin' mother of all pimples on my forehead!"

Sam tilted his head to the side. "Honestly, I didn't even notice. Let me see. It can't be that bad."

Dean's answering glare could have melted steel and Sam found himself inadvertently stepping back slightly. "It's that bad. I don't get zits, Sam."

"Despite the evidence to the contrary," Sam muttered to himself, unable to resist teasing Dean a little. The skin on Dean's normally smooth forehead was red and irritated-looking, with an angry dot directly in the middle. Sam idly wondered how he hadn't noticed it earlier.

With a low growl, Dean turned back to the mirror and furrowed his brow.

"It really isn't that bad, you know," the younger Winchester offered lamely. "We could stop for some concealer or something."

"Will you just find out where the son is buried before I decide to give the watch back to you?"

Sam decided strategic retreat was, in this case, his best option.

* * *

The night was quiet and peaceful, broken only by the throaty purr of the Impala's engine as it headed out of town. It was already cold outside, leaving both Winchesters grateful for their jackets and the car's heater. The brothers had made the trip in silence, one out of irritation by his marred forehead, the other out of concern for the potential success of their unusual plan.

Finding the grave of Abigail's son hadn't been overly difficult. He had been buried beside his mother in the cemetery that had received their family for over one hundred years.

It was evident that the young dentist had no affection for his father, as Sam had discovered that he changed his last name from Denham to Belmont as soon as he was old enough.

After ensuring there were shovels in the back of the Impala and saving a map of the cemetery on the computer, the only thing left to do was wait until nightfall.

"Almost time for my favourite part," Dean muttered sarcastically. "I love digging graves in the cold."

"It'll be weird to dig a grave and not do a salt and burn," Sam mused, pulling his jacket tighter around himself.

"There could still be time for that," Dean replied. "You never know -"

A rough sputtering sound cut off Dean's words. The elder Winchester cursed colourfully as the Impala's usual rumble gave way to a sickly stammer. The car jerked briefly before the sputter died and everything went silent. Dean swore again as the car coasted slowly to the side of the road before stopping.

"Damn it!"

"What happened?" Sam asked, wide-eyed as he took in Dean's increasingly angry façade.

"I don't know! The damned pocketwatch messed with my car!"

Sam glanced out the window to determine how far they were from the cemetery, but no signs were visible. "We can't be too far out. They weren't exactly going to take the bodies on a safari or anything. It won't be that far to walk . . ."

He trailed off as Dean got out of the car and walked to the hood. Frustration was evident in every movement the older man made.

Sam sighed. Damage to the car was pretty much the best way to anger Dean. It was probably a good thing no one associated with the watch was still alive. When Dean felt that his car was threatened, he got angry. When Dean got angry, he liked to burn things.

The Winchester in question was fiddling about in the engine, muffled curses indicating that he either had not yet found the problem, or that he had found the problem and it was a large one.

Sam knew the best course of action was for him to stay in the car. Dean wouldn't welcome his help, however well-intentioned. The young hunter sat quietly for a moment before glancing at the dashboard. He snuck another peek at Dean before sliding into the driver's seat. He peered at the displays. Sam frowned as he had to acknowledge he was out of his element. With a grimace of frustration, he tapped the display lightly . . . and cursed as the reason for their current predicament became immediately apparent.

The needle on the fuel gauge moved from its prior position at the ¾ full mark to rest solidly on empty.

Sam groaned. This was not going to go over well.

"Dean?"

"Gimme a minute, Sam."

"I think we're out of gas."

Dean's head poked around the hood, and he frowned to see Sam in the driver's seat. "We can't be. I put twenty dollars of gas in it two days ago. The tank was already mostly full and we haven't even driven anywhere."

"I think the fuel gauge was stuck," Sam said lightly. "It's on empty now."

Dean moved around to the door and looked for himself. The older hunter never said a word. He merely circled the car, slamming the hood before heading to the trunk. Sam hurriedly got out of the car and got to the trunk in time to grab the shovel Dean thrust at him.

"You okay, man?" Sam questioned.

"We are getting rid of this watch tonight, Sam, so help me . . ."

Sam nodded, unsure of what to say. He gripped the shovel tightly in one hand and retrieved the duffel bag in the other. Dean grabbed the second shovel and some flashlights before slamming the trunk.

"Let's get this over with."

Sam let his brother lead as they walked down the abandoned road, leaving the Impala to melt into the darkness behind them.

* * *

Abigail's grave was a modest one. The simple granite marker was overgrown with weeds and had clearly not been visited in some time. Sam was always struck with a sense of sadness when faced with a neglected grave as it was the only memorial to a long-deceased person who deserved to be remembered.

Her son's name, Joseph Belmont, was barely visible under the encroaching vegetation, but it was enough to ensure that they were exhuming the correct grave.

Dean looked reluctant to start digging. It was cold enough now that his breath was visible. No doubt there would be frost on the ground before morning.

Setting his flashlight on the grave stone and arranging it so its light fell on the hard ground, Sam took up his shovel and broke into the cold earth. After only a moment of hesitation, Dean joined him.

It was long, arduous work punctuated by Dean's complaints as he received an inordinate number of splinters and particularly large blisters. After a while, Sam had to banish Dean to the sidelines as the sides of the grave kept caving in. Once the cursed Winchester was out of the hole, the sides remained fairly stable. In any case, both brothers were relieved when they finally hit wood.

"Finally. It's about freakin' time." Dean stepped down into the hole and poked at the casket with his shovel.

"At least we don't have to uncover the entire body to burn it," Sam pointed out in answer to Dean's mutterings.

"It's weird to be leaving something behind as opposed to burning the corpse," Dean agreed.

"Can you try to show a little respect, Dean? We're digging up the grave of a good man, here."

"You've got a funny way of showing respect, you know," Dean replied. "Open the casket so we can give him the watch and let's get out of here. We still have to walk back to town and I don't want bad luck biting me in the ass all the way there."

Sam carefully positioned the shovel and used it to break several sections of wood free. The coffin had fared relatively well over the intervening decades, but the wood was still weakened, aged and partially decayed. The younger Winchester pulled the loose pieces out of the way and found himself looking down on the remains of Joseph Belmont.

"Sorry about this," he muttered quietly, embarrassed to admit how unnerved he was at the thought of disturbing the innocent man's grave.

With a final glance at Joseph Belmont, Sam pulled himself out of the grave and made room for Dean to approach the body. He held out his hand to take Dean's shovel and placed it to the side. Sam waited silently near the headstone for his brother to finish.

Dean looked stoically down at Belmont's remains. He pulled the watch from his pocket, pausing only to glance at the inscription one last time. "I guess in all that time, you were the only man who loved her, Joseph. This belongs to you."

He carefully placed the watch on Joseph's chest before climbing out of the grave. Both Winchesters worked wordlessly as they reburied the body. Dean patted the last few loads of dirt down flat as Sam took a moment to tear the creeping weeds off of the old headstone.

"Do you think it worked?" Sam spoke quietly as the left the cemetery.

"No way to tell unless the watch comes back or I get hit by a car or something," Dean shrugged.

"That's not funny."

"It's a little funny."

They fell into silence as they began the long walk back to town.

* * *

Dean was greatly relieved to find the Impala hadn't moved from where he'd left her. While he couldn't exactly count it as _luck_, the fact that she hadn't been stolen or damaged in his absence gave him hope that the watch was gone. The elder Winchester found himself checking his pockets every few minutes, expecting the watch to return at any time as it had with Sam the previous day.

So far, it had stayed away.

Sam walked ahead and deposited the shovels in the trunk. "We should head out."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm coming." Dean dragged his feet as he approached the car. "This sucks."

Sam's reply was cut short as a light appeared in the distance. "Are those headlights?"

"I think so," Dean replied cautiously. "With our luck being what it is, it's probably the Feds or something."

Sam's face took on an appalled expression. "Don't even joke about that. What should we do?"

"Feds will recognise the car if we're near it or not. I guess we'll just wait and see."

It soon became apparent that the approaching vehicle did not belong to anyone in law enforcement. The small blue truck had clearly seen better days and the back was loaded with various well-used tools, but the man driving it looked pleasant enough. He pulled the truck over when he neared the Winchesters.

"You boys okay?"

"We just had a bit of car trouble, sir," Dean answered, putting a hint of sheepishness into his voice. "Ran out of gas."

"She's a beauty, son," the man whistled appreciatively as he gazed at the Impala. "I'd hate to leave that girl sitting here too long. Why don't you boys hop in? I'll give you a ride back to town."

"Thanks, we'd appreciate that." Dean climbed into the middle and waited for Sam to join them. Sam crammed himself into the passenger seat, contorting his body to fit into the confined space.

"Meeting you out here was pretty lucky," Sam said cautiously.

"It was," the man agreed. "Not too many people take this road. No worries, though. We'll get you some gas and I'll bring you back out after I've dropped off some stuff at my son's place. We won't leave your girl out there for long." He grinned. "You must've put a lot of work into her, son. I have a 1969 GTO that I restored; you should come out and see her sometime."

Sam bit back a groan as Dean struck up an easy conversation with the man. This was definitely Dean's idea of good luck – talking shop with someone who appreciated classic cars.

The younger Winchester shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position. Despite the poor fit, he grinned to himself. Things weren't so bad, really.

* * *

**Day Five:**

"Time to go, Sammy. Hurry up in there."

Sam ignored the pounding on the bathroom door. The steam from the shower swirled around him and for the first time in days he felt well-rested. Even with the delays inherent in getting the gas and going back to the car, he and Dean had made excellent time. Dean had made a new friend in the old farmer, Charlie, and there was still no sign of the pocket watch.

Life was pretty good.

Reluctantly, Sam turned off the water and got out of the shower. He really couldn't delay any longer. Dean was right. They had to leave.

Sam got dressed and grabbed his duffel bag. "Before we go, I think we should let Aaron Mills know the watch is gone."

"Sounds good," Dean agreed. "I picked up some food while you were in the shower, so we won't have to stop for awhile."

With a grin, Sam followed his brother to the door. "I figured your first thought would be to get food now that the threat of dying in a freak botulism incident is over."

"Laugh all you want, but I wasn't going to risk it. You're the one always telling me not to take so many chances."

Sam really couldn't argue with that logic. He changed the subject. "Where are we heading next? Haunted emu farm?"

Dean shrugged. "You know, we've probably used up our quota of bad luck for the next few months. We should go to Vegas."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Seriously, after all that bad luck, shouldn't we be unusually lucky? Vegas could be exactly what we need."

"Dean . . ."

"Hot chicks in skimpy outfits . . ."

"_Dean!_"

"Okay, okay. No Vegas," the elder man conceded, raising his hands in defeat. "You can pick where we go next."

Sam snorted. "I think I get to pick the gigs for the next month."

"A month? How does that work?" Dean asked, throwing his duffel into the Impala's trunk.

"You puked on my shoes, Dean," Sam replied. "You _owe_ me."

"I got you out of jail. We're even."

With a shake of his head, Sam laughed. "I got you out of jail first. Nice try, though."

Dean fought back a grin and forced his face into a scowl. "You can pick the next three hunts, Sam. I think that's more than fair considering you messed up my chances with that waitress when you got arrested."

Sam shrugged, not feeling particularly guilty about that, but unable to argue with his brother's logic. "Okay, three hunts. Sounds fair."

Both brothers climbed into the car.

"So . . . where to, fearless leader?" Dean's voice sounded only slightly mocking.

Sam snorted. "Right now, I just want to get far away from this town. I want to make it hard for the watch to find us in case giving it to Joseph didn't work."

"Fair enough," Dean conceded. "You know, I was wondering about that."

"About what?"

"Now that the watch is with Joseph, what will it do? What kind of good luck can it possibly bring a dead man? It can't exactly improve his fortune or anything like that, can it?"

Sam wasn't certain how to reply to that. It was true. There wasn't really anything the watch could do to help Joseph Belmont or his mother. "Then again, there isn't much it can do to hurt them, either."

Dean shrugged, accepting Sam's unintentional muttering as an explanation. It was as much as they could expect, in any case. The job was done, the brothers were apparently free of the watch, and it was time to move on.

Dean turned on the car and pulled out of the lot, heading for the open road.

The Impala drove off into the crisp autumn day, dried leaves swirling in its wake.

* * *

_Several Months Later_

The night was quiet and still, as it always was. No one came. No one ever came here anymore. The light frost covered the ground, but soon there would be no frost. The promise of warmth and new life grew with each passing day.

Winter had been a time of sleep; the world regenerated, gathering its strength for the burst of growth that was to follow. Spring meant new life, and it was no different here.

Once it had been different. At one time, the silence had promised to be absolute.

Something had changed.

The light mist of early morning wafted across the ground, rolling in on itself as came to the stone barrier. A small pile of dirt formed in the ground, sending grains trickling down its sides.

There was a flurry of movement as the pile was thrust upwards. Dirt flew in all directions, shattering the illusion of unchanging peace. It lasted only a few moments, but in those moments, everything changed.

The new life took its first breath. The mist swirled around it and goose pimples formed on the renewed flesh. It looked around, trying to remember; trying to understand.

It saw the stone. There were words on it, but blurred vision prevented any further inspection.

Dirt tickled its face and it . . . _he_ . . . wiped it away with a shaking hand. There was something clenched in his fist, it was heavy and hot, but he couldn't force his hand to open. He caught the barest hint of a golden shimmer. He held his hand close to him, unconsciously trying to draw warmth from the object.

He tried to stand on unsteady limbs and failed. He shivered, curling in on himself and rocking. He was so cold.

He tried to form words. He remembered speaking before. He remembered warmth and laughter.

His hand pulsed as the heat of the object clenched within it began to spread throughout his body. His shivering slowed. Soon, he would be warmer. Soon, everything would make sense.

He blinked again, trying to focus his new eyes.

It was growing brighter. He remembered light. Light brought warmth and safety. He hadn't seen it in so long. Turning his face to the to the glow, he felt the earliest rays of the morning caress his face.

Joseph Belmont watched his first sunrise and smiled.

* * *

_The End_


End file.
